History in the Making
by Mali Bear's Buddy
Summary: With Dean and Jo struggling to adapt to a life they have only flickering memories of, it's a family affair when a pair of old hunters, a prophet-turned-deity, 3 angels, a brother and his pregnant wife all take an interest in getting the lovers hitched.
1. Ch 1: Hard Headed Woman

**A/N:** Well, I promised you a sequel to _Drag Her From Heaven, Drag Him From Hell _in early 2012 and it's finally here!

I'm going to try to come up with a regular schedule, but I ask for your patience. I've been coping with a back injury since July and I kind of have to follow my muse on whatever path she takes. I've got another big project I hope to start posting soon as well as some smaller on-going pieces. Yes, I am probably crazy.

Many, many thanks to friend, beta and fellow writer **stephaniew**. Steph is an amazing muse wrangler, cheerleader and partner in crime. I'd be lost without her support and encouragement.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Supernatural._

Chapter 1: Hard Headed Woman...

The kitchen table is littered with magazines and samples of everything from invitations to napkins and matchbooks. Post-It Notes covered in Ellen's bold scrawl cling to everything when they aren't crumpled and discarded, broken warriors in a losing battle.

It's a mess. A big fat mess. And Jo Harvelle wants absolutely no part of it.

Grumbling, she pours herself a cup of coffee before settling into one of the ladder-back chairs, its wicker seat sighing beneath her weight. Fresh back from exterminating a nest of vampires and running on less than four hours of sleep, the last thing she wants to be doing is making wedding plans - especially for a wedding she isn't sure should be happening in the first place.

Unfortunately for Jo, she gets her stubborn streak from her mother and Ellen is tired of being put off. She shoves bridal magazines at Jo and gives her lists of decisions that need to be made. She carries on about different styles of dresses. About catering versus having a potluck supper. About how she only has one child and how everything will be perfect if it kills her.

"Do we have to do this now, Mom?" she asks groggily as she looks at the pages her mother has marked. Frothy and frilly dresses stare back at her. One bride looks like the sugary top of a cupcake. The next, like she's swathed in an antique tablecloth with doilies for sleeves. Nothing plain or simple. Everything is extravagant in a way that just isn't her.

"Joanna Beth!" Ellen fusses. "The damn wedding is in two months and we haven't planned a damned thing!"

She's still slightly surprised there hasn't been more upset or objection to the idea of her marrying Dean. When she's brought it up, Ellen's laughed it off. A frown etching across her delicate features, she asks again, "Are you sure this is the right move?"

Ellen moves to the stove and fiddles with a pot of stew, tasting it before she adds extra pepper. She returns her daughter's look of concern. "Jo, honey," she says, shaking her head. "It's just cold feet."

Sitting down, she takes Jo's hand in hers. "If you had asked me back when y'all met, I'd have said over my dead body. The Winchesters are nothin' but trouble." Her eyes growing misty, she strokes Jo's cheek and continues, "But when I see the way Dean looks at you, it reminds me of your Daddy. He's rough around the edges, but he loves you."

Eyes shining with confusion and sadness, she looks into Ellen's eyes and asks, "Are you sure? I mean... What if he's just with me because I got him out of Hell? What if he's doing this out of gratitude?" She lifts her mug to her lips and takes a drink. "I mean, I don't know. I don't remember..."

"What's gotten into you?" Ellen asks, eyes narrowing as she snatches the coffee cup from her daughter's grasp. "Are you pregnant?"

Jo spews coffee all over the table, shaking her head as the strong liquid floods her nasal passages. She'd be smelling French Roast for a month. "What?" she sputters. "No! Of course not!"

An exasperated sigh leaves Ellen's lungs as she begins cleaning up the mess. "Aww, Jo," she chastises. "You've made a mess of everything..."

But Jo doesn't hear her mother's remark. Her eyes slam shut as her vision clouds and she's carried back to another time...and a different version of herself.

_Her heart flutters as she watches the brunette circle Dean as though they're sizing each other up for a tango. She's elegant and sophisticated. Her mile long legs climb athletically beneath her short skirt. The plunging neckline on her halter top fluttering to where Jo's sure Dean's getting an eyeful of silicon enhanced cleavage._

_It makes her self conscious. She's not exotic like the woman dancing around her boyfriend. She doesn't own anything stylish and, to the extent she does, she only wears it on those rare occasions when the job necessitates a cover. She wouldn't be caught dead in a skirt that length or a top that revealing. Staring down at her own chest, she snorts a laugh. Not that her tiny breasts would come close to filling anything like that out._

_She doesn't know why it matters. And, really, it really shouldn't. She has Dean's heart. Has for a while now. He thinks she's beautiful. That her hair is like spun silk and her eyes are as welcoming as a glass of whiskey on a cold night. Just last week he..._

_Standing behind the edge of the door, eyes widening in horror, she watches as the brunette slips her hand around Dean's neck and draws his mouth down to hers. She catches the smirk playing across her lover's face. It's one she's seen countless times. One she knows means he's about to move in for the kill._

_And boy, does he move in for the kill. His fingers tangle in the woman's short hair, anchoring her head in just the right position to take deep possession of her mouth. Jo watches as Dean kisses her thoroughly, his tongue sweeping between her cherry red lips and eliciting a throaty purr._

_Jo gulps for air. This couldn't be happening. Mere hours earlier, she, herself, was lying beneath Dean with similar noises escaping her own mouth. She can feel the delicious ache between her thighs as though they're still joined. It isn't possible..._

"Jo?" Ellen's voice interrupts. "Joanna Beth?" She waves a hand in front of Jo's face, snapping her fingers and trying to call her daughter's attention back to the kitchen and their wedding plans.

Jo feels her stomach lurch. She lifts the back of a hand to her mouth as the bile begins to rise in her throat. Standing, she stumbles. The chair turning over in her wake, she races through the screen door and into the blinding light of day outside. The creaking slam of the ancient hinges and wood as it comes to rest are lost in the sound of her own heart thundering in her ears.

It shouldn't surprise her she knows right where he'll be - laying on the cement floor of the old garage, oil and sweat clinging to his skin as he crawls out from under his beloved car.

"Should get us another 1,500 miles or so," he says with a satisfied grin as he pulls a rag from his back pocket and wipes his face. He leans under the hood to pull out the dip stick and check the new oil level, turning to look at her when he hears the shuffle of her feet. He dips his head to meet her gaze, "Jo? Sweetheart? Everything okay?"

She doesn't look at him. She can't. Not even when he tilts her chin up. She stares at her hands. Stares at the small, glittering stone that suddenly feels like it weighs 100 lbs. She wrenches it from her finger, choking back a sob as it clings stubbornly to her knuckle before sliding free.

Dean looks at her, concern and confusion flooding his rugged features. "Jo?"

Grabbing his wrist, she drops the ring into his palm and closes his fingers around it. "I'm sorry, Dean," she says quietly shaking her head, her voice quaking with emotion. "I can't. I just can't..."


	2. Ch 2: Soft Hearted Man

**A/N:** I love you guys, but you're killing me...

As a point of clarification: Yes, this one _is_ the sequel to _Drag Her From Heaven, Drag Him From Hell_. The following stories are part of what I'm calling the Heaven/Hell 'Verse:

_If Only For Tonight..._

_Can't Fight This Feeling_

_Drag Her From Heaven, Drag Him From Hell_

_History in the Making_

You don't have to read the other stories first, but some of this might make more sense if you do. There weren't enough characters in the Summary to say what I wanted and point to it as a sequel.

For **stephaniew**. Friend, beta and protector... Thanks for looking out for me and helping me keep things on track when I want to give up.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Supernatural_.

Chapter 2: ...Soft Hearted Man

Without thought or complaint, Dean slips the ring into his pocket and takes Jo's hands in his own. He smiles at the softness of her skin and how the scent of wild strawberries clings to her damp hair. He doesn't need a ring to know she belongs to him and that he's hers. It's written in his heart.

Shifting his stance, he pushes a stray, honey blonde lock behind her ear. "Talk to me," he says, stroking her cheek. "Tell me what's going on."

Jo's eyes flash with hurt and she pulls out of Dean's grip. "How long are we going to keep up this charade, huh?" she asks, crossing her arms. "If I'm not enough for you, Dean, just say so..."

Dean's brow furrows and he stiffens at her words. "Come again?" he asks. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Don't mess with me, Winchester," she growls, turning her back to him. "I saw you with her."

Dean takes a breath and decides to go with a gentler approach. "Saw me with who?"

"I had a memory," she says, surprised at the tears stinging her eyes. She hurriedly brushes them away. She can't let him see them. Can't give him an inch. "I was watching you kiss some brunette. You liked it. A lot."

Dean chuckles and Jo moves to slug him. For once, Dean's faster and anticipates the move, spinning her into his arms and wrapping her in their mutual embrace. His breath skims over her neck as his chin finds her shoulder. "That's not how it happened."

_Dean keeps a watchful eye on the succubus as she stalks him. The form she's taken is attractive with long legs and stylishly cropped hair. The packaging is enticing, short skirt and flirty halter top covering very little of her curvy frame. _

_She wasn't his type though. Not even in the old days - the ones before Hell and a fierce blonde hunter who had risked everything for _him_. He smiles. It's a smile the creature thinks is in response to the way she touches him, trailing her hand across the back of his neck. This is all part of the plan though. The plan Jo had reluctantly agreed to as she lay sprawled across his chest that morning._

_Meeting Jo's gaze, he gives her a tiny nod and turns the creature into position. He does it with a kiss. The taste makes him want to wretch. She tastes like death. Like the destruction she leaves in her path._

_He forces himself to think of Jo's flavor. Coffee or whiskey tinged with vanilla lip balm. The warm tongue that teased without overpowering his mouth. Jesus, when they got out of this place..._

_The creature howls as her skin begins to burn. Dean gasps for air and comes up chuckling. "Took you long enough!" he teases his girlfriend._

_Moving quickly, Jo backs Dean against the wall. She pushes him roughly against the surface, her hands creeping up his chest and her eyes wild. She captures his mouth. He moans, tangling his hands in the softness of her hair._

"_You stubborn son of a bitch," she hisses, pulling away. Moving to his throat, her lips skate to his pulse point. "Don't you ever suggest anything like that again..."_

_Dean's hands slip into the back pockets of her jeans, tugging her closer. Groaning when her body comes to rest flush against his own, he answers, "It worked, didn't it?"_

_Jo sucks at his neck, her teeth nibbling gently at the tendon as her fingers pulling at his hair to angle his head. "Here's the thing, Princess," she murmurs, continuing with her quest. "You're mine and I don't like to share..."_

Dean's lips drift over Jo's throat as he finishes. "When you finished with me, I had the biggest hickey you've ever seen," he tells her. His pants tighten at the thought of what happened later that evening. At how they'd practically torn each other's clothes off the second they hit the motel door. How they made do with some chips and sodas from the vending machine because they didn't want to get out of bed. "I love you."

Jo swallows and she pulls away to look at him. Her shoulders shaking with sadness, she tells him, "I don't remember. What if I never remember? What if the details are always wrong?"

Chuck's words ring in his ears: _Miracles _do_ happen, Dean._ Hands on her hips, he smiles down at her. "Faith, Jo, have faith..." he says calmly. "It'll all come back. It's already starting to for me. We've got a really good thing, baby. You've just gotta..."

Jo slips a hand into her hair at her temple and scratches her head. How could his version of events be so different from her own memory? How was it that it somehow seemed so much more like _them_? A sad smile touches her face and she bites her lip as she backs away from him. Her voice a sigh, she says quietly, "Maybe I just need time..."

Brushing his lips tenderly across her forehead, he tells her, "Take all the time you need." Looking deeply into her eyes, hoping she can see what's in his heart, he adds. "Of course you're enough. You're the only one ever has been."

Jo steps backwards but Dean snags her hand in his, tangling their fingers . "I love you, okay?" he tells her. "I'll wait for you. For as long as it takes."

She nods, unconvinced, and forces a smile as she slips out into the afternoon sun. He watches the gentle sway of her hips and the way the sunlight glints in her hair. He shakes his head, his heart telling him to trust as his mind wanders to another memory. A memory connected to the object housed in his pocket and he can't help but grin.

_Dean swings the poker and Jo ducks out of the way._

"_Jesus, Dean! That was almost my head!" she yelps as she scrambles to grab the locket that was flung from her fingertips._

_He smirks. "Watch your back, Harvelle!"_

"_You're the one who's always getting us into trouble, Princess!" she calls back to him as she makes it to the fireplace._

_Dean races to her side, reaching her just as the ghost spread its arms. He watches as the creature's beauty faded into rot and decay and screams as he charges Jo, knocking her to the floor as the necklace drops into the flames. _

_Breathless, he looks down at her in the firelight. He strokes her face and she laughs softly. "You okay?" he asks._

_Jo shifts beneath him, pushing playfully against his chest. "I'd be better if you'd get off of me..."_

_Ignoring her, too caught up in the way the light and shadows dance over her features, he leans down and dusts his lips over hers. His tongue tickles against her mouth, darting inside on her gasp and stealing the air from her lungs with passionate intensity._

"_Marry me..." he murmurs, nuzzling his nose against hers._

_Jo's eyes sparkle with confusion. Twisting from beneath him, she grins and races toward the front door. Blonde curls bouncing in her wake, she hollers, "Last one to the Impala rides shotgun..."_

It was the beginning to what would become the happiest night of his life. The night Joanna Beth Harvelle said yes.


	3. Ch 3: Mission Impossible

**A/N:** If you read _Drag Her From Heaven, Drag Him From Hell_, you probably saw this coming. At least you should have... [wink]

No excuses. Sorry for the delays.

Many, many thanks to friend, beta and partner in crime **stephaniew** for putting up with me and offering to do whatever I needed to help get things back underway. She's a wonderful resource and I'd be lost without her. Go show her some love.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Supernatural_.

Chapter 3: Mission Impossible

This wasn't going according to plan. The part that troubled me and the thing I hadn't expected was Joanna's resistance. If anything, I expected Dean would be the problem. Watching him now - the way he smiles even as he holds the ring in his palm and watches her walk away, I'm astonished by how much he's grown. Turning my chair away from the monitor, I smile at the three men standing in front of my desk.

Gabriel and Balthazar exchange looks. Gabe takes a large bite of a candy bar and shrugs while Balthazar just stands there trying to remain unemotional. They try not to show it, but both are hopeless romantics.

Castiel's head tilts to the right and he frowns, his eyes dropping to the floor as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. He's the closest to the pair and I can tell he finds this behavior disturbing.

"Thought you said this wouldn't be a problem, Boss..." Gabe says, addressing me around a mouthful of chocolate and caramel.

I sigh and stare at the frozen image of the glittering object resting against Dean's calloused palm. The trouble with free will is you can't predict it - even when you're supposed to know what will happen. "Shouldn't have been."

Cas shakes his head, his voice coming in a flat monotone. "Joanna is stubborn..."

"Gee, Cas, ya think?" Gabe asks, looking toward his brother with a furrowed brow.

They amuse me greatly. Creating them was one of the best ideas I've ever had. As Cas and Gabe continue with their bickering, my eyes turn to the third of my angels. The one who's adopted the look of an aging rock star and is obsessed with leather pants.

His voice slow, the tone of his accent melodic, Balthazar says, "She has to marry him."

I nod in agreement. I'm not going back on my word and they know it - Dean and Jo will live a long and happy life together. But there is something. Something that involves a particular time table in order for everything to align properly. It's for this reason that the next words escape me with a deep sigh. "Sooner rather than later."

"I don't understand. Can't we restore her memories?" Cas asks. He feels for them. Dean isn't the only one who's grown through this experience.

"Too risky," Gabe tells him. He knows humans can only handle so much. I think he was surprised that Jo's brain wasn't scrambled in her return from Hell.

"We could show her...show them," Balthazar offers. "Perhaps that would spark something in the Harvelle girl."

I like how I often don't have to tell them where I'm going or what I'm thinking. We're all on the same page. We know what we're looking at and how much time we have to make the window. "Balthazar, research the best options. Focus on convincing Jo to accept this life." He nods, his mouth twisting mischievously as he quickly makes his exit. My attention returning to the remaining angels, I tell them, "Castiel, talk to Dean. Gabriel, you've got Jo."

Gabe's shoulders slump and he whines, "Why do I always have to deliver _that_ piece of news?"


End file.
